Chapter 267

The clock ticked ominously on the wall, each passing second seeming longer than the next. I decided to make a few calls before Timothy arrived. Hopefully the board could handle Jasper, unless he had other connections outside of his uncle.

I left my office to grab some coffee, inevitably running into some coworkers in the lounge. As I waited for the fresh batch of coffee to brew, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Hey, Evie. Are you alright?" Lily said with concern etched on her face. “We saw what happened with Jasper.”

I forced a tight-lipped smile, hoping the tremble in my voice wouldn’t betray me. "Yeah, it's just... some personal stuff. I might need to leave a bit early."

My words hung in the air, and the concern on Lily's face deepened. Before I could leave and forget any hope for coffee, Mark chimed in. "Don’t let that guy get to you, Evie. We’ve all known that he’s bad news."

Their genuine worry pierced through my fragile veneer, and I felt tears prickle at the corners of my eyes. "Yeah. Excuse me.”

I hurried out of the room and back to my office, barely containing the fresh tears ready to spill. To my relief, there was a gentle knock on the door. I opened it to find Timothy standing there. Without a word, he enveloped me in a comforting embrace, offering silent solace that spoke volumes.

I leaned into his embrace, taking in the familiar scent of his cologne. Just his warmth was enough to calm my heart.

"Let's go," Timothy said softly, his voice a gentle prompt.

Nodding silently, I allowed him to guide me out of the office. The drive home was filled with a heavy silence. Of course, it didn’t last too long.

It started with him glancing at me occasionally, then as we neared the apartment, he cleared his throat.

"What happened, Evie?" Timothy finally broke the suffocating silence. “Something must’ve triggered it.”

I hesitated, my heart pounding against my ribcage. How could I articulate the humiliation Jasper had subjected me to? "Jasper... he came to the office." The mere mention of his name left a bitter taste in my mouth.

"Why?" Timothy's brow furrowed.

"He wanted to... to humiliate me," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Timothy's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "What did he do?"

"He... he made a scene, I guess trying to ‘expose’ me to the world as some corrupt leader," I choked out the words, reliving the humiliation all over again. “He was recording it too, which I’m sure he’ll spread around soon enough.”

Timothy's jaw clenched in anger, and I could feel the tension radiating from him. "I'll talk to him. He can't treat you like that."

"No!" I blurted out, panic lacing my tone. "Please, just leave it. I'll handle it."

"Why do you always have to deal with everything on your own?" Timothy asked with an edge in his voice.

"I'm responsible for running things here, Timothy," I said, my voice trembling. "If I can't handle this, how can I manage everything else?"

Timothy's silence lingered, the unspoken tension thick in the air between us. His heart was in the right place, but I couldn't let him fight all my battles. Especially not this one.

"I promise I'll handle Jasper," I reassured him, my voice firmer now. "Please, just drop it. He’s not worth it."

He sighed, reluctantly nodding as he pulled up in front of the apartment building. "Fine. But promise me you'll talk to me if things get too overwhelming."

"I will," I promised, forcing a smile.

He walked with me to my apartment, keeping one arm wound around me, as if I’d collapse if unattended. Perhaps I might’ve if I didn’t reach my bed soon, as tired as I was.

Eventually, we arrived at my apartment door and I turned to him, offering him a smile. "Thanks for the ride. You didn’t have to come pick me up so early.”

Timothy shook his head. “I’m just glad you caught me during a break from practice. I would’ve missed your call.”

“Yeah…” I leaned in, brushing my lips against his. He grabbed my waist and pulled me closer, deepening the kiss. “Maybe we’re in sync, or something.”

“You think so?” He chuckled into my neck, the vibration almost delightful as he nibbled at my skin. I carded my hands through his hair, wanting so badly to hang onto him, but he had practice to get back to.

I forced myself to pull away, even as he pouted down at me. "Are you sure you'll be okay alone, Evie? I can stay if you need me," he offered.

I hesitated. "I'll be fine, really. I just have some things I need to handle," I assured him.

"Alright. I’ll swing by to check on you when I’m done.” He took my chin and kissed me again, rubbing his thumb over my bottom lip.

"I’ll be here," I replied, mustering a grateful smile before watching him walk away.

As I entered my apartment, a sense of unease mingled with a strange anticipation. Aria's absence surprised me—I hadn't expected the apartment to be empty. But it presented an opportunity I hadn't foreseen—a chance to confront something that had been weighing heavily on my mind.

I made my way to the computer, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, hesitating for a moment. With a deep breath, I began my search, my heart racing as I typed in keywords, searching for therapists in the area.

The list that appeared was overwhelming. I scrolled through profiles, searching for someone who felt right, someone who could understand and guide me through it all.

Finally, a name caught my attention—a therapist specializing in trauma and anxiety. The description resonated with me, offering a glimmer of hope.

Gathering my courage, I dialed the number listed, feeling a knot form in my stomach with each ringing tone. The anticipation and nervousness swirled within me, but I pressed on, determined to take this crucial step toward healing.

"Hello, this is Dr. Morrison’s office. How can I assist you?" a calm voice answered at the other end.

The words caught in my throat for a moment before I managed to speak. "Hi, I'm...I'm looking to schedule an appointment," I stammered, my voice betraying my nervousness.

"Certainly. May I have your name, please?" the receptionist asked politely.

"Evie. Evie Sinclair," I replied, feeling a sense of vulnerability in revealing myself in this context.

After a brief exchange of information, an appointment was scheduled. The prospect of seeking professional help brought both hope and trepidation—hope for healing, but also the fear of confronting the shadows lurking within me.

Sinking into the chair, a wave of nervous energy coursed through my body. Questions and doubts plagued my mind. Would therapy really help? Could I face the traumas I'd buried for so long?

With a heavy sigh, I stood up. The nerves gradually subsided into a quiet determination—a resolve to confront the shadows of my past and seek the solace I desperately yearned for. Bruce wouldn’t control me forever.

Not if I had any say in it.